Glue
by Fabrosa
Summary: "Whoever said sadness was akin to having your heart ripped out lied. I've never been more aware of the blood pumping through my veins."
1. Chapter 1

I talk to stars like some people talk to God, compulsively, obsessively, religiously. One flickered erratically at me in a way that I knew it was dying, or, given the intensity of its epileptic pulses, already dead. Most stars we see are only the leftovers of light still traveling to earth even though it's already gone. Most people don't realize this. I do.

"You know I… uh... I don't know. Everyone's off doing their own things am here I am. As usual. Left out. Alone. Fuck. I bet you know what it feels like, to be alone. Your closet neighbor is light years away, probably already dead. Man, that must suck. Maybe I don't have clause to complain. It's not everyone else's' fault they have better things to do than to hang out with me."

I looked up at the full moon and sighed. They'd probably need me tonight at least. They always need me when there's a problem, the only time when I'm useful. Even then… Not useful enough for Scott to return my calls. The dial tone, harsh and empty, rang loudly in my ears and, before I knew what I was doing, a million shards of glass and plastic were skittering across the slanted roof, falling down to the ground like reflective rain; and I was screaming, knees pushed up against my forehead, hands clutching the sides of my skull.

"You see?!"

My screams traveled as far as they could, towards that dying – definitely already dead – star, because it was comfort to think that _anything_ cared. I glanced down to brush stray shards of phone away from my body, and when I glanced back up the star was gone.

"I'm honored to have spent your last moments with you. God knows you're the only one who probably wanted me here. It was nice to talk."

I hope they needed me, for whatever reason, I hope they were begging for odd-ball Stiles Stilinski to show up on scene. I hope they needed my knowledge on everything supernatural, I _hope_ they needed me to lay down traps, or make connections. I hope they were begging. The brush beside my house rustled, it only rustled on full moons, and I wiped at my face quickly, erasing any signs of emotion.

"Let me guess," I called out, my voice laced with harsh humor, "you need me to go find Lydia, o-or even better, go help Scott and Allison, the people who don't even look at each other anymore, let alone me. Or _even better_ you need me to risk my _life _saving somebody I don't even like! Is it Jackson again?" I laughed. "Is the lizard boy back? Something went wrong with him? Gone crazy? _Again_?"

Derek stepped out of the brush, eyes narrowed. I narrowed mine back.

"Stiles."

"Leave me alone, Derek. I'm sure that whatever it is you big bad wolves can deal with it yourself. Some of us humans have school tomorrow."

"Stiles-"

"Where's your pack? Somewhere chained up? What, do you need me to feed them my arm to keep them in place for a while because your little kids are out of control?! Or maybe a leg? Do you even have a pack anymore…"

"_Stiles_!"

I stopped then, not because I didn't have more to say – ask anyone, I always have more to say – but because Derek's eyes went red and, despite how much I say I'm not scared of him anymore, the red eyes get me every time. I backpedaled as he was suddenly on my roof, right in front of me, claws out.

"Put those away," I sighed. "Just go away… please. Just please leave me alone."

"Will you listen, Stiles?"

"What? What do you want? I can't do anything for you! I _can't_ do _anything_."

"It's your father."


	2. Chapter 2

It's funny how three words can change an entire situation. Well, maybe not so funny, but the amount of time it took me to get off of the roof and into Derek's car could definitely be looked at as comedic. Never in my life have I run as fast.

"Can you go faster," I urged, leaning on the dashboard, as if my 147 pounds pressing towards the front of the car would propel it forward.

"Not unless you want to spend unnecessary time with the police."

"What happened?"

"Later."

"Derek, tell me what happened!"

"I said later!"

He reached over and pushed me back against my seat, even buckled me in, the bastard. Hot, angry tears rolled down my face. 'It's your father.' That could mean anything. My father what? Was he attacked, does he know now, was he bitten? It can't mean anything good. I slammed my head against the passenger side window. A dull pain shot through my temple and I did it again. My head throbbed, my brain felt too big inside of my skull. I did it again.

"Stop! For fucks sake, would you calm down?"

I did it again, just to spite him, because who the fuck was Derek Hale to tell me what to do? He wasn't my Alpha. He was barely the three kids' Alpha. This time a sharp pain shot through my head, conjuring white dots to obscure my vision and a high ringing in my ears, and I recoiled back with a low hiss.

"Yeah," I said, after the intensity of the hurt was low enough to where I could speak. "Okay, definitely done now."

Derek made a noise, a strange kind of noise, I didn't care about what the noise was, but I didn't want him to make it again. I don't like Derek Hale's noises, none of them, they were never good. Even his good noises were bad. He could be telling me I won a million dollars and it would still be a bad noise. I buried my face into my hands; they smelled like wet tile, like outside. I always smell like outside, it's a disgusting thing. I'm so tired.

The rest of the ride was silent; I didn't bang my head against any more windows. It didn't take long to get where we were going, this wasn't exactly a big town we lived in, and when I saw it was the hospital my heart dropped into my stomach. I could feel it beating there, at the pit, settled somewhere next to that night's dinner – microwaved leftovers, slightly burned. I was out of the car before it even came to a full stop, tripping over my feet, nearly falling face-first into the soft mud. Whether Derek laughed or growled I didn't know, it didn't matter, I just know he made noises again. He should stop doing that.

"Dad?"

There was someone of the stretcher; they were zipping up the body bag. They were blonde, it wasn't dad. There were a lot of bags here. I looked around, frantically, desperately. He wasn't there. Usually he'd come running up to me, say "Son, what are you doing here?" He's not with me. One of dad's officers caught my eye, stared for a moment, and then dropped his gaze. Something hit me hard in my gut and I clutched my midsection, stumbled forward, almost fell.

"Dad?"

_'I'm fine, son.' _Isn't that what's supposed to come next? More body bags being wheeled out of the hospital. Scott's mom approached me, her face twisted, wrinkles on her forehead, mouth in a harsh frown. Hot tears rolled down my face, there were hands touching me, holding me up.

"Come on, Stiles."

No, don't touch me, Ms. McCall. Don't touch me. Don't. Touch. Me. Don't! Touch! Me!

"Stop! Please, just let me go! _Let me go_!"

And she does and I'm running to the last body bag. Dad's not one of the surrounding officers, not one of the suits and badges all around me. Fucking Derek is making noises again.

"Would you just shut up?!"

The body bag is waiting like an omen. I already know what's inside, but I can't help thinking "Please don't be dad".

"Dad," the sound is not like me, it's broken, and I choke on that simple syllable, that once simple word that I can't force through my closing throat. The zipper feels too heavy in my hands, the small thing, I can barely lift it, can't pull it down further than an inch or two. Looks like dad's hair, same color. I can't do this.

My knees buckle underneath me. I don't feel the ground when I fall.

"You're the only one I have left," I scream. I don't mean to scream, I didn't want to, but I do, I did, and it's loud, it rings in the full parking lot, bouncing off the sides of cars and huddled groups of family members –wives and husbands and children – who lost someone too. "You were the only one… Dad!" I clutch the wheels of the stretcher, body shaking with tears and I can't believe this is happening to me. I'm not a bad kid, I try my best. I've always tried my best.

"I can't…"

Hands grip my shoulders, haul me off the ground. I'm kicking my legs; Derek's noises fill my ear. Not words, just sounds, but I'm sure he's saying something, but every noise that is not my own is distorted, like my head has been dunked under water. How long have I been under? Weeks? Months?

"I can't… breathe."

This is what a panic attack feels like, I remembered. My heart beats too erratically, like the stars, in a way that usually meant it was going to die, or already dead - most likely the latter, considering the sudden numbness of my every limb. And I'm still kicking.

"Stiles, stop! Come on, come on!"

I'm fighting to get back to the body. Not dad anymore, just the body, because beings are not made up of the shells they inhabit, but the souls inside of those shells. My dad's soul has departed but, damn it, I still wanted that body to get up and walk, talk, laugh, yell, frown, smile, sigh, cry. I'd take a soulless shell. I'd take a shell-less soul. I claw at the arms around my mid-section, my cut nails barely scrape the skin, I kick at Derek's knees, and I thrash around. People watch me, covering their mouths, wet, bright eyes. I bet they're wondering, 'what's wrong with the kid'? That's all people ever wonder about me. What's wrong with that Stilinski kid? They don't understand. He was the only one I had left, and I barely had him anymore.

When was the last time I told him I loved him? I can't even remember.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm surprised to see people interested in this. So far the chapters have been really short because this is a type-and-go project. I want to post longer chapters and am thinking about waiting at least a week before posting again instead of this day to day thing I have going on. As you can probably tell, I also need a Beta so if you're interested in being my beta I'd be forever grateful.

**Chapter Two**

Whoever said sadness was akin to having your heart ripped out lied. I've never been more aware of the blood pumping through my veins. Each dull throb echoes through my hollow body, pumping nothing into nothingness. My heart was there, it was beating, and it made me sick.

Back in Derek's car, I didn't care if I was buckled in. My head lay against the window pane, bouncing and coming back down gently with every bump on the path. We're driving through the woods, I told him to take me home, but I don't care. I really didn't want to be home, but it seemed the appropriate place to go. Don't know how long we drove, into the woods, out again, on the highway, back in town. I don't know where we were supposed to go, nowhere probably. None of us talked; my heart beat painfully. Every now and then a moan escapes my lips, the ghost of a cry. Soon I'm asleep, and I know I'm asleep because I can't feel my heart, and I know that's what sadness is supposed to be. But it's not.

As a professional at falling asleep, there are not many instances where I can't control my dreams. I slip into sleep like I wake up from it, by transferring into a different reality, and I'm aware, in dreams, that the sky is more blue than usual and I could turn the clouds green and the grass purple if I wished it – and I often do wish it, because, let's be serious, who doesn't want purple grass? In this dream I can't control anything, and that means that it's not really a dream, it's a nightmare, and these I can do nothing about. Sometimes I'm not even an active member of my nightmares, but observing from above, an omnipresent god, floating above the horror, but feeling every second of it.

I don't remember the nightmare, I never do, but I wake screaming, in a cold sweat, hyperventilating, and still in Derek's car. He sat calmly in the driver's seat as my panic died down, smoking casually on a cigarette, starring out the window. I try gather my shredded dignity off the floor, and as I'm picking up the pieces of my manhood – fixing my clothes, wiping away the drool, drying my face – he turns towards me, his eyes softer than I'd ever seen them before.

"I drove around for two hours before you fell asleep; you've been out since twelve A.M."

It's only then that I notice the sun is high in the sky, shining brightly on the Earth as if everything was okay. Last night's events come back all at once and I moan as my heart gives a terrible lurch and my every sense is thrown into hyperawareness. My eyes are sore from the crying, still puffy, and burn if I open them to any fraction above a slit. My mouth tastes horrible; my breath smells even worse, the kind of morning breath where you can taste how bad it smells – I nearly gag on my own tongue. My head is throbbing and a gentle exploration of fingers against the side of my head finds a huge knot forming there, dried up snot crusts the front of my nose. I smell, look, and fell like shit.

"Alright, take me home. I just want to sleep."

"You just woke up."

"And now I want to just fall asleep again."

We lapse into silence; I catch my fingers drumming against the dashboard, my leg bouncing up and down. I don't bother to try and stop it, like I usually would, I just let it go.

"We need to talk about what happened last night, and it's very important that you listen to everything before making judgments and coming to conclusions. You understand that, Stiles?"

"Don't speak to me as if I'm a child," I hiss through clenched teeth. I pull my hood over my head, tuck my chin into my chest, and fold my arms. I sneer so hard growling fells appropriate. Derek just sighs, as if I'm the one being intolerable, as if I'm not entitled to a bad attitude, taking into consideration the series of events that happened just yesterday.

"Don't think that I'm insensitive to your father's death-"

I let out a harsh laugh and I could practically feel his eyes on me.

"-I've been through deaths. I know how it feels. I'm sorry about your dad."

I remember the fire that killed his family, but I can't be bothered to grasp the sympathy required when recalling such a thing. He doesn't need my sympathy, doesn't want it, and I'm not too keen on dishing it out.

"Your father… he was in the way. I tried to protect him, we both did, but there's only so much that we can do when-"

I didn't hear any more than that. I was out of the car in seconds – again, the speed in which I get from one place to the other under extreme emotion never fails to surprise me – and running away, to anywhere, anywhere away from Derek and his stupid fucking voice. I couldn't exactly see past the burning sun and my suddenly wet eyes, I couldn't think with all the confusion in my brain, and I couldn't feel my legs or my arms or anything, but I was running as fast as I could, tripping over my own feet. I could feel the start of another panic attack growing in my chest, next to my hummingbird heart. My hands started to shake, my legs too, it was getting harder to run, to even walk, to inhale or exhale, to blink, or feel, or even keep track of the functions required to exist in this reality. I didn't get far before I was in Derek's arms again. I didn't even bother to struggle, I just collapsed against him, angry but so exhausted.

"You fuckers did this? You stupid fucking dogs!"

My voice held less bite than I intended, my words didn't come out above a strangled whisper.

"There's only so much we could do when we were already down."

He put me down on the ground, like some broken toy, gently as if I would break, and a spark of anger went through me. I folded my legs under me and shoved my hands into my pockets. The concrete was warm in the way where it would have been cold if the sun wasn't beating down directly on it. Where were we, anyway? Derek sat down in front of me, copied my posture, and didn't stop trying to catch my eyes until I would look at him for more than two seconds without frowning and turning away.

"Do you remember when Jackson was the kanima, and we were strapped in the police stations. Your dad was there and Scott's mom."

I nodded tightly.

"It happened a lot like that with Wolfsbane instead of paralyzing venom and a new team of rogue hunters instead of Jackson and Matt. These guys, they don't follow that same rule as the Argents. I admit we were unprepared. It was only Scott and I, and he was already down. I tried to bargain for your dad's life."

I looked down and he stopped, reached forward and grabbed my chin, forced me to look at him.

"I tried to save him, Stiles."

I jerked my head out of his hands and starred at the ground. He tried to save him… I nearly laughed. Since when did Derek care about anything other than his own progression of power? I should have been mad, I wanted to be mad, but I didn't have the energy.

"More police came and they were running through them, they didn't care who they killed. They only stopped when the place was surrounded. We barely got out with our lives – Stiles, listen!"

"I don't care about whether you lived or not! The fact is that my dad is dead because of your werewolf bullshit! Do you know where that leaves me? Huh? That leaves me alone! I don't have a single cousin left to turn to. No aunts, uncles, grandparents, I have nobody else! You think I care about you, or this stupid Twilight-gone-wrong bullshit that you're telling me? Well, I don't. Sorry, but I don't."

I shake my head and laugh harshly, the tears come then, and I'm ashamed of myself for them. Derek watches me with his usual 'I am Derek Hale, fear my wrath' expression and, just to piss him off, I try to copy his face. I narrow my eyes, fix my mouth into a tight line, furrow my eyebrows, and glare. A few seconds into the stare down I'm trying not to laugh and failing miserably. If only I had two chinchillas for eyebrows and lost my shaving razor three months ago it'd be a more convincing imitation. With that thought, I do laugh, and it makes my stomach hurt to laugh so much, and I don't stop laughing, not even when Derek throws me over his shoulder and totes me back to the car, straps me in the passenger seat, and is driving off again. And it's during that laugh that I realize that I wasn't being fair, not with myself or Derek.

"Listen man, I'm, uh, I'm just drained right now."

"I understand that. By now your stuff should already be moved. It's not safe for you to stay alone anymore, I don't even think you're allowed to-"

"I'm almost eighteen."

"-so Scott got the okay for you to live with them until you're old enough to live on your own. And then he asked me to take you in."

Before I could protest he shot me a look that shut me up immediately.

"Ms. McCall is already in enough danger simply being the mother of Scott, factoring in being your temporary guardian will ensure her death. And you know their financial situation, do you really think they could house you when they're just barely getting along their selves. Plus with the extra cost of all your medicine and therapy, do you really think-"

"Alright, I get it."

"Do you, though?"

"I do."

"Good."

We drove in silence for a while, and after ten minutes of continuous road I noticed we were really far off from town. I drummed my fingers against the dashboard and he didn't tell me to stop, so I didn't. I could tell by the way his brow furrowed and twitched that it bothered him and his werewolf senses, but he didn't say anything. It confused me. I could feel myself drifting off again, road trips never failed in putting me into a swift sleep. Somewhere half into my favorite reality Derek made a noise, sounds, and I attempted to listen but my eyes drifted close. Through a blurry haze I saw his face, watching mine, and he got a strange expression before turning back to the road. I heard my name, and then I heard nothing else.

A/N: Please leave a comment, fav, or follow if you like! It's what keeps me writing. :)


End file.
